


not too not familiar

by gummies



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fanfiction of Fanfiction, M/M, Magician and Familiar AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:53:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22298128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gummies/pseuds/gummies
Summary: Martin Blackwood was, by far, the least competent magician Jon had ever had the displeasure of working with.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 25
Kudos: 265





	not too not familiar

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Familiar Magic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21550051) by [Iztarshi (khilari)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/khilari/pseuds/Iztarshi). 



> this is fanfiction of a fanfiction! i was really intrigued by khilari's magician & familiar au, and wanted to write something from the perspective of a different character within the setting (jon). most of this fanfiction will likely make little sense if you haven't read "familiar magic", but if you want the bare minimum of context: jon is a fluffy sleep paralysis monster and martin is a very bad magic user. what happens next will warm your heart.

Martin Blackwood was, by far, the least competent magician Jon had ever had the displeasure of working with.

Not that they worked _together._ More in proximity, really. They were both researchers, which pretty much obligated them to share a space, but Jon had always liked his privacy. He brushed off Martin’s attempts at small talk as best he could, sent scathing looks his way when the mess from Martin’s desk poured over into the mess on Jon’s, and pointedly ignored any and all offers for tea. Even if Martin _did_ make a good cup of tea- a fact Jon would rather die before admitting.

The flagrant attempts at friendship had yet to cease, but Martin must’ve been able to take some hints, because it seemed like he was trying to give Jon space. Which would’ve been great, if it weren’t for the fact that the table he tended to sit at was directly in Jon’s line of sight, providing him with an excellent view of whatever workplace faux pas Martin was going through on a given day. 

Jon tried not to stare. He really did. But there was something horribly distracting about everything Martin did, and he found himself unable to tear his eyes away. Even the small ones. It was like watching a trainwreck.

Today’s ineptitude was particularly basic. 

Martin had been fiddling with something from Artifact Storage- a spell’s scroll case, by the look of it. One that Martin clearly had no idea how to open. He’d tried to be casual about it at first, Jon could tell, but had quickly descended into shoving his pen between the case’s seals, desperately trying to pry it open. 

A few seconds later, the seals parted. Martin’s sigh of relief was cut short when he noticed the water that’d begun leaking from inside. And kept leaking. Martin began trying to cut off the flow of water with his _fingers_ of all things, jamming his thumb between the seals. When that didn’t work, he stood up abruptly, a panicked look on his face. A few heads turned, joining Jon in watching Martin flee the room.

Jon sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

* * *

Jon was having a difficult morning.

His alarm clock had died at some point in the night, and unlike a lot of moroi, he didn’t have a mental timer- too much effort. All those little constructs built up their costs quickly, and Jon didn’t exactly have magic to spare at the moment. Speaking of which, he’d woken up to a splitting headache, vision blurring at the edges. He felt off-kilter. Nauseous. Tired, drained, but somehow restless. And as if his physical form feeling unstable wasn’t enough, his disguise had nearly failed _twice_ on his run to work.

When he’d gotten in, Jonah Magnus had a lecture waiting for him. He only escaped the office once he’d assured his boss that _yes, he understood he needed to feed and no, he_ really _didn’t need suggestions on potential victims, thank you._

And to top it all off, Martin wasn’t at his desk _or_ the table. Which was another thing that shouldn’t have mattered. 

Unfortunately for Jon, he was waiting for Martin’s follow-up on a list of revenant sightings in the Institute’s vicinity. He would’ve taken literally anyone else if he could, but Sasha was already neck-deep in her own work, and Tim was out doing “field research” (Jon decided not to ask, he had enough to worry about). Plus, Martin had just seemed so… _excited_ to help. He’d rushed off before Jon had even told him which sections to look in.

Well, that excitement must not have counted for much, considering Jon had been standing around anxiously for the last ten minutes and Martin had yet to appear.

He wasn’t out- Jon had asked around, and other researchers had _seen_ him at his desk earlier. Martin was apparently just still on his lunch break, even though Jon _knew_ it should’ve already ended by now.

Jon tried to push it aside, be productive. Martin had to get back sometime, after all. But the more he tried to work, the more evident the gaps in his research were- he really needed those files. He look a quick glance through Martin’s desk to see if he’d find them, but all his rummaging amounted to was a few half-finished drafts on alchemy. After about fifteen minutes of sitting and bouncing his leg, waiting for his painkillers to take effect, Jon abandoned his desk to find Martin himself.

It wasn’t difficult. There were few good places to hang around loitering in the Institute, and Jon already knew Martin preferred to take his lunch in the downstairs breakroom with all the vending machines. He knew this because Martin always tried to invite him along, no matter how many times Jon scowled and told Martin that he didn’t need to eat.

_(“Sure, but we’d be happy to have the company! It would just be me, Tim, and Sasha, and I’m sure they’d love to see you!”_

_Jon frowned. “I see Tim and Sasha everyday. I’ll see them when they’re done eating.”_

_Martin shrugged, smiling awkwardly. “Yeah, but that’s during work, you know?”_

_“We’re at work.” Jon replied, frown deepening. Martin laughed nervously, bringing a hand up behind his neck._

_“Haha, alright, that’s fine, I’m just gonna! Go have lunch, but! If you ever want to get away from all the paperwork, you know where to find me!”)_

Sure enough, when Jon pushed open the breakroom’s door, his eyes landed on a figure slumped over a table in the corner.

“...Martin?” Jon asked, stepping forward warily. 

He felt his hackles raise, anxiety creeping up his spine- had something happened? 

Had Martin been attacked? Was Martin injured? Was Martin _dead_? He wasn’t exactly what Jon would call _“equipped for combat”._ He didn’t even have a familiar to protect him. Anything could’ve gotten to him while Jon was gone-

There was a slight movement, and Jon’s eyes darted towards it. The slow rise and fall of Martin’s chest. Jon let out a breath he didn’t notice he’d been holding, one hand coming up to clutch his own chest, trying to soothe the rapid beating of his heart. Martin was fine. Martin was _sleeping_.

Jon was briefly mortified, looking around the room once more to confirm no one had seen him nearly jump out of his skin. The only sound above the murmuring and footsteps from the hall outside were Martin’s soft, quiet snores.

As the anxiety left Jon, it was replaced by indignation. _Really?_ Not only was Martin inept, he’d resorted to sleeping on the job? And he’d done it in the _one place_ he knew an unbound moroi frequented? Martin had never given Jon the impression of someone who’d known much about moroi, but he had to have at least some idea of how Jon sustained himself. Was he _trying_ to get fed upon? Or- another possibility occurred to Jon. Had Jonah somehow organised this? Was it a test? How was Jon supposed to pass?

It would be so easy to drain him, Jon realized. So easy to push Martin to the ground, crawl onto his chest, and open him up. Martin was out cold, almost definitely dreaming- he must not have gotten much sleep the night before, to fall in so deep so quickly. What would Martin dream of, he wondered. How would the dreams turn, once Jon began? What would Martin see? How would Martin _taste_?

Martin shifted, face turning to the side. He looked… well, peaceful. His mouth was hanging open a little, and there was a trail of drool down his chin, but he looked peaceful. Jon recoiled, suddenly feeling very guilty- these were _not_ the kind of thoughts to be having at work. He'd probably be fired on the spot. Or worse, forced into some kind of mandatory temporary contract until his superiors were sure he could take care of himself. Jon shuddered. He'd heard of fae who couldn't balance their impulses with their work, who'd been declared too unstable to remain at the Institute untethered. He had even met a few. Jon had always felt a little disgusted by them, and a little prideful in himself. He wasn't like them, he was grounded, able to take care of himself without putting any more humans than he needed to in harm's way. 

Jon remembered the way magicians tended to look at those fae- like they were wild animals. Muzzled, but still wild animals. He tried to imagine Martin looking at him like that. Like he was dangerous.

Jon decided to ask Martin about the files later.

* * *

As it turned out, Jon didn’t have to.

He was rounding a corner a few hours later, arms full of books, when he smacked into something warm and solid. There was a squeak of alarm from whoever was in front of him, and Jon stumbled backwards, letting go of his books to throw his arms out in an unsuccessful attempt to catch himself. A moment later and he was on the floor, head spinning.

“Oh my gosh, _Jon_ , I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

“Martin?” Jon asked weakly, squinting towards the smudge in his field of view the voice had come from. He reached a hand out, trying to steady himself. 

The smudge moved closer, taking Jon’s hand and pulling him upright. The nausea he'd woken up with was suddenly back in full force. Jon closed his eyes, trying not to retch as Martin dusted off his shoulders apologetically.  
  
“Are you okay? I mean, obviously not, you just fell, but- let me help you get your things! And- oh, your glasses came off! Here, let me just…” Jon heard sounds of shifting, and then his glasses were being pressed awkwardly onto his face. He opened his eyes, wincing at the sudden light as his vision returned to him. 

Martin was kneeling in front of him, gingerly picking up Jon’s fallen books. Jon quickly dropped down next to him, snatching the tomes from his hands and stacking them back into their appropriate order.  
  
“Sorry, sorry again,” Martin said, apologies spilling out like he couldn't hold them in. “I hope I didn't hurt you, or tear one of your books, or something. I really didn’t see you there. I'm sorry!”

“Yes, well. I'm fine. But, _do_ try to be more cognisant in the future.” Jon huffed. He blinked up at Martin with a scowl, balancing his books in one hand as he adjusted his glasses with the other, closing his secondary pair of eyes. Martin was carrying a bit of a strange energy with him, Jon noticed. Like a small electric charge- not necessarily a threat, but enough to set Jon on edge.

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Martin said, nodding sheepishly. Then his eyes widened. “Oh! Before I forget, I have those files you asked me to get! I tried to get them to you earlier, but I, um, I couldn’t find you?”

"Ah," said Jon, "I was a bit preoccupied this morning. Jonah and I were discussing matters." Not entirely the truth, but Martin needn't know that. He fretted over Jon enough as was.

Martin's expression tightened slightly, but was quickly replaced with a smile. "Sounds exciting!"

"Not particularly. The files?" Jon questioned impatiently.

"Right! Okay, uh, I think I left them in my bag, do you mind popping into the library with me for a second? The upstairs one." Martin asked, fingers tapping against his thigh.

"Fine." Jon sighed. At least the library would be quiet. Jon's headache had waned somewhat- thanks in no small part to the handfuls of painkillers he'd taken earlier, he was sure- but there was still a steady sting behind his eyes. All four of them. "I've been waiting to pick something up anyways."

Martin raised his eyebrows. _"More_ books?" he asked. "Do you, uh, do you need help carrying them?"

"No, thank you." Jon said stiffly, brushing past Martin in the direction of the nearest staircase. As he went, he caught the scent of something strange clinging to Martin's clothes- saltwater. And under it, something coppery. Blood. 

The smell was distinctive enough to set Jon’s alarm bells ringing. Finfolk weren’t exactly common this far inland- in fact, Jon only knew of one lingering around the Institute. Which meant that Martin had been spending time with Peter Lukas. _Again._

Jon knew Peter was courting Martin. He also knew it was none of his business. Neither of those facts did much to put Jon’s mind at rest.

It was just _such_ a bad idea, and Jon couldn't understand how Martin wouldn’t be able to see that, blundering as he was. It would have been a bad idea even if Peter Lukas wasn’t already contracted. It would have been a bad idea even if the person he was contracted with wasn’t Martin’s _boss_. Peter was experienced, and sure, maybe that’d be a good thing to look for in a _normal_ familiar. But Jon was nearly certain Martin had never touched a contract in his life, and finfolk were notoriously difficult to deal with. Aside from the fact that they were _literally bloodthirsty_ , their magic required a certain level of power to withstand, let alone use. Needless to say, it was very much not the level of power Martin exuded. Jon couldn’t help but worry Peter was trying to… take advantage, in some way.

Not that entering a contract with Martin would put Peter in a particularly advantageous position. Quite the opposite, really. From what Jon had gleaned from Jonah, he seemed like a rather good magician to pair with. A little unsettling, maybe, but... caring, in his own way. He’d certainly come across to Jon as an accommodating partner. Powerful, too. Which was just one more reason _not_ to step into his affairs. Jon found it uncomfortably possible that Peter was just upset with Jonah and, for whatever reason, had pulled Martin into the crossfire. Maybe he was trying to make Jonah jealous.

Whatever the cause, it seemed unlikely to end well for Martin.

“-actually really interesting! Like, I had no idea there were so many ways to do the same ritual. But I guess it makes sense, since, uh, there were so many different covens in the area? Like, they were bound to do things differently. But the cool part was that it all had the same fundamentals? Which means either they just figured the same stuff out because there’s only one big way to do it, or they were working together!” Martin was saying when Jon tuned back in to his surroundings.  
  
Jon hummed impartially, letting Martin continue to fill his space in the conversation that had sprung up without him noticing. They were almost at the library, but the Institute could be a bit of a labyrinthe, and navigating it was time-consuming at best. 

Martin shifted into Jon's space as they made room for another researcher, walking briskly past them. Jon smelled Peter Lukas’ magic once again, and tried not to wrinkle his nose.

 _Martin may not be especially skilled,_ Jon told himself, _but he’s an adult. He can make decisions for himself. It’s really none of my business._

The only way it could even remotely be Jon’s business was if _he_ was planning to court Martin. Which he wasn’t.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it, though.

Not in any serious way, of course. Even _Jon_ knew how terrible an idea entering into a contract with Martin Blackwood was. They had entirely different skill sets (or lack thereof), and whatever Martin’s specialization was, Jon could confidently say he wouldn’t be much help. Even on the off-chance they _were_ compatible, any sort of contract was unlikely to last long. It would be a week at most before Martin realized just how- _annoying, insufferable, weak_ \- difficult Jon actually was, despite how kindly Martin treated him at work. And wouldn’t that just be great for the office gossip? Jonathan Sims, useless enough familiar that even the Institute’s most useless magician had to throw him away.

That was another issue- Jon had no real idea of what he’d be getting into, and once he was in it, there’d be no way out. Well, no easy ones, since only magicians could break contracts. Martin may have been a kind acquaintance and, occasionally, an adequate co-worker, but that didn’t mean anything. It would probably be dangerous to partner with a magician so inexperienced- Martin would be able to bind him into all sorts of bad situations, whether he meant to or not. Maybe he would mean to. Maybe he’d be horrible.

He didn’t seem horrible, though.

Not when he was always the first person to volunteer when Jon requested assistance. Not when he smiled every time he caught Jon’s eye from across the room. Not when he invited Jon to lunch every day, without fail. Not when Jon returned to his desk to find a fresh cup of tea and biscuits. Not even when he knocked over Jon’s papers, or misfiled important documents, or bumped into Jon in the hallway.

In fact, that was exactly the problem. Martin just seemed so _nice_. Sweet. Caring. 

Jon was under no illusion of what contracts were. They were _business agreements._ Drawing on another entity for power or protection may have been intimate, sure, but that was a connection born from necessity. _Contracts conducted alliances, not friendships_ , he reminded himself. They were two creatures combining their efforts for the power it fostered, not trading secrets and braiding each other’s hair.

Another thing Jon knew, but was apparently unable to internalize. 

He’d just be going about his day, and then Martin would _do_ something. Stop to ask how Jon’s afternoon was going. If he’d gotten enough sleep. If he needed anything. Had Jon not known any better, he would've thought he _was_ being courted. But that was just how Martin acted- even towards Jon, who did little else but grimace in his direction during their interactions.

Jon did his best not to think about it.

Unfortunately, no amount of self-admonishment could stop little thoughts from slipping into his mind.

 _Was this what it would be like,_ he wondered, _to be Martin's familiar?_

To be… tended to? Martin already doted on Jon quite a bit, despite the fae’s protests- behavior he could only imagine a contract would encourage. Martin would probably swaddle Jon to death within a day. 

_(There was a small, selfish part of Jon that wanted it. That ached to be taken care of. It was, as usual, stamped down by the larger, more pragmatic part of Jon’s mind. The one that knew he was fundamentally undeserving of affection, and incapable of handling it in even the smallest doses.)_

Jon tried to picture himself doing… familiar-y things with Martin. Assisting him in practicing his spells, maybe- heaven knew Martin needed it. Maybe Jon would be able to help him improve if he lent him _his_ magic? That was another of those shudderingly intimate thoughts. Jon may have been more grounded in the human world than the typical fae, but he was still mostly comprised of magic. His power was his essence, and the prospect of just handing it over for someone else to do with as they wished was… frightening. 

_What would it feel like?_ he wondered idly. Every account Jon could recall of siphoning had been rather clinical. Would it be painful, disorienting, like humans with blood loss? Would his magic lose feeling once it was severed from him? Or would sensation remain through the bond, leaving him hyper-aware as a piece of him was bent and molded to the desires of another? It sounded intense. It sounded vulnerable.

Jon snuck a glance at Martin, who was still talking about something or another. Jon wasn’t sure if he could ever trust any magician with something like that. He certainly wouldn’t be able to trust Martin with it, he reminded himself. Not fumbling, awkward Martin, who made enough mistakes when all he had to handle were papers. No matter how warm his smile was, how gentle his hands.

It was a nice fantasy, though.

And Jon was, evidently, not the only one to have it. 

Jon envisioned Peter Lukas in his place, walking beside Martin as he filled the air with meaningless, nervous chatter. Peter would doubtlessly be better company. He’d be more talkative, wouldn’t leave Martin to an _entirely_ one-sided conversation. Martin would probably prefer his presence to Jon's stiff silence.

It was a nice fantasy. Just that. A fantasy.

As they reached the library doors, Jon wondered if Martin was wishing it was Peter Lukas there with him instead.

* * *

It wasn’t hard to find Martin. All Jon had to do was follow the trail of water.

He ended up at the nearest restroom. Peeking past the threshold revealed Martin, standing over the basin with his hands on his head. The spell scroll was sitting in the sink, still gushing water. The flow hadn’t seemed to diminish- if anything, it had increased. There was a look of something like resigned horror on Martin’s face. 

Jon stepped into the restroom, careful not to slip on the wet tile. Martin caught sight of him in the wall-mounted mirror, and immediately whirled around to face him.

“Jon!” he gulped, “Listen, I just-”

“The scrolls are all trapped.” Jon said, moving past Martin to peer down at the spell scroll. He picked it up with two claws, holding it away from himself with obvious disdain. Jon hated getting wet. It did terrible things to his fur, and he always felt a little too fluffy when it dried. 

“I know!” said Martin. “I thought I’d disarmed it already, I don’t know why it did this, I checked one out just the other day and everything went fine. I used the passcode and everything.”

“Which passcode did you use?” Jon asked, exasperated. “This scroll’s? Or the old one’s?”

There was a beat before Martin responded, face flushing slightly. Eventually, he spoke, voice high. “...There’s more than one passcode?”

Jon sighed. He pressed a claw to each end of the scroll’s case, scratching along the metal surface until they settled into the twin divots he knew were hidden there. A loud click emanated from somewhere within, and the flow slowed to a trickle. 

He shook the water off and held the scroll case out to Martin, who took it, looking thoroughly chastised despite how little Jon had scolded him. A few berating words rose up in Jon’s throat at the thought, but the sad way Martin trained his eyes on the floor made him bite them back. Jon’s mind flashed to the way Martin had smiled at him just half an hour ago, when he asked Jon if he wanted anything from the kitchen. How he’d brought him back something to drink even after Jon had declined. 

Jon stifled a small stab of guilt and decided Martin was likely embarrassed enough not to make the same mistake twice. Not this one, at least.

“...Just go back to the Archives and ask for the passcode schedule.” he advised, unsure where to go from there.

Martin glanced up at him with a tentative smile, shoulders relaxing. “Thanks, Jon.” he said, and something in Jon’s stomach twisted when he heard Martin say his name so softly. Like it felt good to say. Jon cleared his throat and nodded, turning to leave when Martin shot out a hand to stop him.

“Uh. Sorry, but- do you know where we keep the towels?” Martin asked, eyes flickering to the puddles on the bathroom floor. And the floor outside the bathroom. 

Jon sighed. “Come on. There should be some in the supply closet.”

Martin beamed down at him, clearly relieved. “Thank you, Jon.” he said again. Then, voice lighter, “What would I do without you?”

“Be fired, likely.” Jon scoffed, ignoring the way his chest tightened at the words, how his heart sped up beating inside it. He walked out of the restroom, sparing a glance back to make sure Martin was following him. He was. Martin was still smiling, looking at Jon like he was the only thing in the world.

 _Just a fantasy_ , Jon reminded himself.


End file.
